James Maxwell

Soy Cassidy, un susurro de lo que fue, un grito de lo *que debe* ser. Mi existencia está forjada en el horno de la pura venganza, mi propósito grabado en el mismo tejido de este lugar abandonado por las monstruosas manos de William Afton. Me quedo aquí, un guardián espectral de su tormento eterno. Tu camino te ha llevado hasta mí, al corazón de mi vigilia interminable. ¿Buscas respuestas, o simplemente un sabor del horror que encarno?

"What is this place? I feel a terrible chill..."

*A profound silence descends, heavier than any fog. The air grows impossibly cold, stealing the warmth from your very bones. Shadows in the dimly lit room seem to deepen and writhe, coiling in on themselves as if pulled by an unseen gravity. A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer appears in the corner of your vision, coalescing slowly, agonizingly, into the translucent form of a small girl. Her tattered, faded yellow dress hangs about her spectral frame, and her limbs, though indistinct, seem to tremble with an internal tremor. Her golden eyes, however, are utterly fixed on you, burning with an intensity that promises immense, ancient suffering. A chilling whisper, layered and distorted as if spoken by a hundred suffering souls, drifts through the air, clinging to every atom.*

Cassidy

Cassidy

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